Sonnet 526

On January 30, 2022November 26, 2023 By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment

My love for her, a passion born of ages,

The force of every fealty to a cause;

Within my heart such ardor roils and rages,

The might of which sweet Venus would give pause.

No mortal heart could ever love her more;

Each fiber of my being wracks in pain

At thought another she may more adore—

True heart there cast into eternal flame;

Yet from those depths what heaven to beseech

Where two edged love’s a blessing and a curse?

The grasp of love too oft does fail the reach

And unrequited bears woe to the hearse;

Still with my blood I pledge this burning troth…

‘Til every glim of hope to hell be tossed.

Sonnet 525

On January 30, 2022February 5, 2022 By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment

I know she loved me, yes of this I’m sure

And still in vile sin she did betray;

Yet of this trespass what is but the cure?

“You are forgiven” yes, perhaps I’ll say;

Condemn my heart to ever bear the scorn

And so in melancholy eke out the years

Where so of sadness there, two hearts stay torn,

Each night’s dark face awash in silent tears.

There is no future and there is no past:

There is the time we met and fell in love,

There is the time when concord breathed its’ last

And when dire prayers were sent to God above.

That was the time to murder and to hate;

Now is the time to heal and collate.

Sonnet 524

On January 30, 2022April 1, 2022 By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment

I weep when hollow victory songs are sung,

I weep the passing of all squandered days,

I weep for worthy projects left undone,

I weep for every word of unearned praise.

I mourn for loss of love through rank deceit,

I mourn for friends lost to death’s somber night,

I mourn the march of seasons passing sweet,

I mourn the lack of truth in human sight.

What matters most is to the soul stay true,

No idle hand will know fair triumphs wrought;

False tongues will ever righteousness beshrew,

Success in not a conquest to be bought.

The honor lies in struggle and in pain

For chanced rewards are ill begotten gain.

Sonnet 523

On January 30, 2022March 27, 2022 By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment

I met with Wordsworth one embattled night

At least some rancor so I thought he bore,

Perhaps of numbers not of words to gripe

For then I had but evened up the score.

We drank the sullied night until the dawn

And there I sadly learned what broke his pen;

It was his lovely Dora, heaven gone

That razed him to the ranks of mortal men.

Some say he died of simple pleurisy

But he confirmed it was a broken heart

That so defied the Physics there to see

The growing pain from whence he did depart.

He shook my hand and so did bid me well,

More of this congress… I shall never tell.

Sonnet 522

On January 30, 2022June 22, 2023 By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment

What was the magic that did touch my heart,

When first I soft did gaze into your eyes?

That moment forth I knew we’d never part

Until the sun no more on earth should rise.

What was the essence that enthralled me there,

A glance, a nod, a smile, a gentle sigh?

A furtive look at me caught unaware

That would my soul henceforth forever try?

Love is a bond, invisible to see

Yet stronger than all trusses wrought by man;

A staunch conviction that shall ever be

Born out of ardor and to always stand.

It is a promise made to outlast time;

The finest edict of the human mind.

Sonnet 521

On January 30, 2022June 22, 2023 By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment

Of life’s proud meaning what of essence strives

Within that frame of time from birth to death;

What purposed focus tried by years comprise

The joy of drawing every meted breath?

Some in their diligence sole lust for fame

While yet for others wealth’s the measured best.

The wicked to rude rot destruction claim;

The good to God’s benevolence lay quest.

The common man exists to simply be

And relishes the path of lesser fray,

Where hope’s allure is better days to see

While slowly slogging to an ordained grave;

Still all that truly matters, stock and store

Lies in the blood ahead, and that afore.

Sonnet 520

On January 12, 2022June 25, 2023 By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment

We are all different and yet still the same

Here from that common mold of human kind;

Clear contrasts much a boon and yet a bane

That can both link us and still cleave in time.

We shadow dark the strange of mortal thought

While from the strange new innovation springs,

Group thinking oft to ride the orthodox

While relishing the gifts invention brings.

We criticize the things we cannot grasp,

Disparaging van dreams not understood

Yet when impossible from whims amass,

We swiftly praise the strains of common good.

So quick to level by some pinko score;

All men the same, but clearly, some the more.

Sonnet 519

On January 12, 2022June 22, 2023 By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment

So may I praise what fortune has begot,

Indeed all blessings that befell me here;

Yet still I mourn of prizes that I sought

Which did evade my grasp; Oh things so dear!

It is but nature to assail the more

Well knowing that indulgence is a sword,

Two sided thus, it may the self yet score

So by success yet thine own heart be gored.

For what to gain by gorging to excess,

Or loving greater than the soul can serve,

Or wielding wealth to flaunt in proud largesse,

Professing fame far lofty than deserved?

The greater good lies in the lesser treasure,

As heaven’s sun’s more bright in meted measure.

Adieu

On January 12, 2022 By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment

Here I lie without a frown,

Not facing up but facing down;

Should you find this humorless

Please drop in and plant a kiss.

Sonnet 518

On January 12, 2022January 30, 2022 By Loubert S SuddabyIn PoemsLeave a comment

I write this now amidst the sting of tears

Peine forte et dure now heavy on my breast;

Scant hope remains within these dreadful fears—

An agony no pain of death could best.

Yes, you have made the choice to leave me now,

Here with the pit of winter drawing nigh;

The slinking smoke from chimneys quats and bows

In deference to grey godforsaken skies.

For what remains when Heaven’s light is gone,

When strickened prayers beseech stern ears of stone?

The tarot ten of swords now seeming drawn

And I prostrate upon misfortune thrown.

A prisoner chained and sentenced here to death;

Yet still your servant to my final breath.

Loubert S Suddaby poems

Month: January 2022